


You Should Show Me Some Respect

by Pimento



Series: Destiel based around episodes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Dom Castiel, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you won’t give me your respect, I will take it.”<br/>Dean swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the hand at his throat.<br/>“On your knees.” </p><p>Season 4, after Castiel threatens Dean in Bobby's kitchen.  It's so supercharged, and menacing, and it should have ended more like this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Should Show Me Some Respect

Dean had woken in the middle of the night. Sam was asleep on the couch. Moonlight streamed through the slats at Bobby's kitchen window, providing light, but draining the scene of colour.

Castiel was leaning against the sink, his patience was wearing thin, with this angry young man. “It doesn't matter. The seal was broken.”

Dean said warily, “Why break the seal anyway?”

“You think of the seals as locks on a door.”

“Okay. Last one opens and...”

“Lucifer walks free.”

Dean was puzzled, “Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing.”

“Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me.” Castiel said dryly. “Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?”

“To stop Lucifer.”

“That's why we've arrived.”

“Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice.” His rage and anger at the near miss and the carnage he had just lived through, bubbling back to the surface.

“We tried.” Castiel’s tone was menacing. “And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost.” His eyes narrowed as Dean pulled a dismissive face. “Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week.” Dean began to recoil, he watched the angel warily, his breath shortening. Dean was rarely truly afraid of anything, and even when he was he fought on, but Castiel he was something else altogether, and Dean found the raw power he exuded overwhelming.

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here.”

He moved in, so close that Dean could smell ozone and the musky smell of his body. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

Dean tried to clear his mind, Castiel had vanished, and he was alone in the kitchen. “Flying dick monkey, asshole,” he cursed under his breath, the defiance wasted on the empty air. He turned to the sink, hands shaking from the intensity of the confrontation. He ran himself a glass of water, and drank it quickly. He needed the john. 

 

He stood washing his hands, and sensed rather than heard the movement behind him. The glowering face reflected back at him over his shoulder, he turned sharply hands raised in supplication, only to find himself slammed to the wall. Castiel held him easily, pinned and helpless against the tiles. His skin prickled with cold tension and he stared deep into menacing blue eyes full of cold fury.

“If you won’t give me your respect, I will take it.” 

Dean swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the hand at his throat. 

“On your knees.” 

He tried to resist, but the hand grabbed his hair and he was forced down, head yanked at an awkward angle. He raised his hands again, ready to punch, scratch, anything but give in. 

The slap to the side of his face knocked him sideways, stars flashing through his vision. He shook his head, the tang of his own blood, metallic on his tongue. He pushed himself back up, on shaking arms. Castiel loomed over him in the half light. Dean’s face twitched with pent up rage, and he launched himself at Castiel, who effortlessly deflected the blows, and caught him another crashing slap to the side of his face. He felt the bruise blossoming over his cheekbone, and he was yanked by the neck onto his feet again, eyeball to eyeball with Castiel.

“Are you going to stop?”

“Screw you, take me back to hell, it beats being here watching you dickbags messing with people’s lives.” He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

What he wasn’t ready for was hot breath on his cheek, and the brush of dry lips against his own. The hand on his neck loosened and dropped to his chest, gripping his t-shirt and drawing him in. The other hand snaking up, the grip on his hair this time firm but not painful. He panted, lips parted and after a momentary hesitation yielded. His fingers which had been splayed across the angel’s chest, gripped reflexively, and the growl from Castiel as he accidentally scraped his fingernails over one hard nub of nipple through the shirt, jolted straight through Dean's entire body, culminating in a hardening twitch of arousal.

He yelped as sharp teeth nipped his lip, and then he was plundered with a brutal, bruising kiss, teeth and lips clashing and taking no quarter. He moaned softly, and hated himself for it. He dropped his hands, palms against the wall, and allowed himself to be pushed backwards against the cold tiles. 

He opened his eyes. Castiel stared back at him. He battled himself, and something gave. He reached up, tentatively, and touched the twitching cheek with calloused fingers, running his thumb over the dry chapped lips. Castiel flinched slightly at his touch. Neither spoke. For the briefest of moments, Castiel rested his forehead against Dean’s, relaxing into the contact, and then he was gone. 

Dean bent forward, heaving air into his lungs, hands braced on his shaking knees, face stinging, and fought the urge to retch from the shock of the assault.


End file.
